Page 41 of Sending Love Letters to Animals

The third and final pick—mine—was the 2007 version of Hairspray. Davud and Jules both moaned and groaned through the first half of the movie. However, by the time You Can’t Stop the Beat started, they were both nodding along to the music. Even though they both teased me about picking “yet another musical,” the evening was successful. Everyone got to pick a movie, the snacks were never-ending, and I didn’t hurt Davud helping him down and back up the stairs. I didn’t even ding his chair or damage it in any way carrying it for him.

Typically, I would have stayed overnight at Jules’ and camped out on the sofa in the T.V. room downstairs. After watching movies with Jules, it was always well after midnight, so there was no point in driving home after a movie night. Davud’s parents were not as keen on the idea of him staying overnight at a girl’s house as mine were, though. They’d said he could stay for all of the movies, but he had to come home afterward. Fair enough.

On the ride home, Davud couldn’t stop talking about the movies, how much fun he had, and how stupid he felt for turning down all of our invitations. I reminded him that it was pretty understandable that he felt uncertain about joining us. However, I was glad that he had finally accepted an invitation.

“Do you think you guys will, uh, have another movie night?” Davud asked as I drove.

I laughed. “You have a standing invitation, dude.”

Davud blushed and smiled at me.

When I pulled up to a strange house that belonged to neither of us, Davud looked as though he was suddenly regretting his decision to hang out so late at night with me. I laughed at his expression.

“This is Chris’ house,” I said as I put the car in park and unlatched my seatbelt. “I’m just dropping off something for the project.”

“At one o’clock in the morning?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll put it in the mailbox by the door.”

Davud simply shrugged as I rooted around in the backseat for the folded piece of paper. After I found the second letter in the series that I had typed up for Chris at the start of freshman year, I told Davud to give me a second to run up to the house. So, he waited patiently while I walked up to the darkened house, being careful not to trip on the uneven brick walkway that led up to the front of the Colonial-style home.

At the door, I looked at the paper in my hand. I had written Chris’ name on the outside, just in case one of his parents found it before him. I was going to send him a text to check the mailbox once I got back to the car, but I had no idea how late he slept in on weekend mornings. It was possible his parents would check the mail before him.

On a whim, I unfolded the paper, and held it up to where the moonlight caught the typed words on the page.

Chris,

All I can think about is how alone I am. And how alone you have to feel right now. That’s all my fault. One day I’ll be as brave as you. I know I will. And I’ll do what you did. Even if you never know it, and I have no right to say this to you, but I’m inspired by you. I’m just not as brave as you. So, it will take more time for me. I didn’t know how to tell you that.

Sorry.

Ryan

With a shuddering breath, I refolded the paper, running my fingers along the seam roughly to make sure it stayed folded in the box. Then I stepped up to the mailbox on the side of the house next to the door, lifted its lid, and slipped the letter inside. Immediately, I turned on my heels and dashed back to the car, somehow not stumbling on the brick walkway. Navigating an uneven walkway twice in one minute and not harming myself in some way was a record for me.

“What was that?” Davud asked when I slid into the driver’s seat and pulled my seatbelt across my chest.

“Me being brave,” I said.

“Huh?”

“If all of my friends,” I glanced over at him, “can be brave, so can I.”

Davud gave me a soft smile.

I gave Chris’ house another quick look, then I pulled away from the curb. Hopefully, the letter wouldn’t upset him. Maybe he’d understand. A little.

Waiting to see how Chris took the letter I had left in his mailbox on Friday night was nerve-wracking, but it wasn’t long. He hadn’t reached out to me over the weekend. He hadn’t even responded to the text that I had sent telling him to check his mailbox. However, when I opened my locker on Monday morning, something fluttered out. Bending down, I picked the familiar looking piece of paper up off of the ground. “I guess we all have to feel alone sometimes,” was written on the photo paper. When I flipped it over, it was a picture of Chris in a crowd of blurry people rushing around him. He looked nervous.

A quick analysis of the picture led me to believe he had set up his camera and a tripod at the mall. He’d taken what was essentially an old-school selfie in the middle of a crowd of people. All of them paying him no mind. Like his first picture, it was moving. And it was the truth. It was Chris.

Surreptitiously, I flipped my English folder open and slid the picture into the front pocket. Looking around, I didn’t find Chris standing nearby, checking to see if I received his picture. He trusted that I would find it when I opened my locker. He had probably arrived extra early to slip it into my locker before I arrived. So, we didn’t talk. Though I wasn’t sure if he was avoiding talking to me because of the rules of the project or because of our history.

It didn’t matter. He was working with me. And he was listening.

For the first time in a while, my morning classes were nice. My stomach wasn’t twisted up in knots, gurgling, threatening to stage a coup. I didn’t feel anxious about the thought of bumping into Chris in the halls. If we ran into each other, it might be awkward, but he wouldn’t glare at me with fiery anger. That was a huge improvement. It’s amazing how something so simple as someone deciding they don’t hate you can make life easier.

Mr. Melvin had posted the list of performers we had selected for the spring recital. I had run into all eight of the students who had been selected, and every single one of them treated me like I was the best thing in the world. So, that was nice—being treated like I had some power in the school, though that was blatantly false. The only person who ignored me in the hallways was Grady Morehouse, but that was okay. I guessed that I didn’t want to hear his thoughts, anyway.